


Lights in the Shadow

by magicianlogician12



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: At the Sacking of Coruscant, Darth Irrida surrenders herself to the Jedi, and makes a choice.





	Lights in the Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not required reading for Waiting for an Eclipse, by any means, but it does offer extra insight into Ismali as a character. Special mention to aurriecentrics on tumblr who allowed me to borrow Hirek, though she was unnamed in the fic itself!

The skyline burned, and Ismali felt nothing but cold.

Imperial ships hung low in orbit, low enough to dispense their troops and harass the meager Republic vessels that attempted to delay them. They were not her concern, not now.

They had arrived in-system hours ago, but according to her orders, delivered by Ekkage herself before Ismali’s departure from Imperial space, she was not to engage the Republic or the Jedi directly, not until she reached the surface. From there, it would be inevitable, but the chaos of the invasion was meant to provide the cover she needed.

Lord Rhuzil had stood with her at the bow of the ship, watching Coruscant come closer into view. “Today, we will bring the Republic to its knees, my lord.”

It had not filled her with the kind of vicious satisfaction she sensed from him. She felt what she was feeling now, staring at Coruscant’s skyline, bright with sunlight and the fire they were unable to put out. Empty. Cold.

Dualsaber in hand, Ismali turned abruptly from the skyline to rejoin the rest of her forward operating base, hastily set up when they’d made landfall several hours ago. She was utilizing her connection with Lord Rhuzil to keep their base shielded from the Jedi who would undoubtedly be searching for them, but it was a drain, and they needed their energy if they hoped to move on the temple. Time was of the essence.

“You know why we’ve come.” her voice, authoritative, icy, and brisk, felt like it was coming from someone else, and Ismali herself was merely a spectator. “We’ve come not to destroy the Republic outright, but to strike a blow so fierce and so deep that they will be reeling from the loss. We have come to strike where they have gambled the heart and soul of their valiant Jedi protectors.” Ismali summoned a hologram of the Jedi temple, one of the Imperial capital ships still hovering dangerously close, despite Ismali’s objections. “We have come for the Jedi Temple.”

They listened, with rapt and nearly reverent awe. Ismali was far too disciplined to allow her brisk veneer to slip, but some inward part of her shrank away from it, as well. This was her sister Xulia’s domain, but Ismali’s talents were needed here far more than Darth Chimris’.

“Darth Irrida, my lord,” one of her analysts spoke up, datapad in hand, “we’re getting readings on the perimeter sensors.”

“Then it’s time to move out.” Ismali raised her voice again, noting Lord Rhuzil’s curious presence at her side. She discarded whatever unease his curiosity brought her, for now. “Erase all traces of our data and communications logs, and dismantle the base to the best of your ability. Your mission briefings have been uploaded to your squad commanders. Lord Rhuzil and I will take point. For the Empire.”

It rang hollow, but Ismali had sworn herself to the Empire since birth, and saying it came as easily now as it had then–for better or worse, she had nothing else to believe in, no other purpose or avenue that she could follow.

_It is enough,_  she repeated to herself as her dualsaber brought down Republic forces by the dozens, leaving their burn-scored bodies in her wake before slipping back seamlessly into the shadows. That rang hollow, too, and she wanted to hate it, but the void in her chest left no room for hate anymore.

“Something troubles you.” Lord Rhuzil said suddenly, as they took a brief rest to check their maps through the chaos of the city, being constantly updated as buildings fell under bombardment, as blockades were set up to deter the approach of far more conspicuous troops.

Ismali didn’t respond for a long moment. “My motives, and my master’s motives, are beyond you.”

It was rare for Ismali to pull rank with him, and she knew he would recognize the gesture for what it was–Ekkage was the master assassin of the Dark Council, and Ismali her trusted right hand. Mentioning Ekkage at all was tantamount to a threat, and the way he tensed told Ismali the message had gotten through loud and clear.

“We have much ground to cover.” Ismali shut off her map and, with a single, subtle gesture, cloaked herself with the Force, vanishing from sight. Lord Rhuzil hesitated, eyes narrowed, then followed.

* * *

Coruscant’s Jedi Temple was already actively under siege when Ismali and Lord Rhuzil arrived, all according to the mission plan they’d been forwarded days ago. but Ismali still hadn’t been prepared for how the sight would hit her.

Her fellow Sith lords engaged in ferocious duels with their Jedi counterparts all around the Temple perimeter, but it was clear the Jedi defenders were moments from being overwhelmed. Darth Malgus had led a force into the temple already, fifty Sith warriors ready to ransack the temple from within, but Ekkage’s goals were far more refined, and required a finessed touch that came only from her. So Ekkage claimed.

It was false flattery, of course, but Ismali  _was_  the only one out of Ekkage’s assassins with both the skill and the restraint to accomplish their goals, and time was running low.

While the bulk of the Sith forces here would be focused on the complete decimation of Jedi resistance, Ismali and Rhuzil had been tasked by Darth Ekkage to bring something very specific back with them from Coruscant, data from the temple’s archives. A data spike hidden in Ismali’s sleeve would find the files Ekkage craved and erase the originals from the Jedi Order’s libraries.

Blaster bolts rained upon Republic and Imperial forces alike in a fiery, torrential downpour as fighters from both sides battled for control of Coruscant’s airspace–one of the dropships that had likely been on the front lines, judging by the deep, burnt scoring on its hull, sent a burst of turret fire into the temple walls near where Ismali and Rhuzil waited, cloaked by shadow and their mastery of the Force.

It left an opening, and precious few seconds in which to use it.

Ismali took off and didn’t wait to see if Rhuzil followed–either he could keep up or he couldn’t, and by now she didn’t particularly care which outcome occurred.

They remained silent as they glided through half-destroyed corridors and tunnels that ran beneath the temple’s main floors, relying on their connection through the Force to keep pace with one another. Soon they began to encounter spare Jedi patrols, lightsabers active and humming with power. Several times she felt Rhuzil’s intent shift, like he intended to strike them down, but every time, Ismali kept up their brisk pace, and left him no opportunities for delay.

She  _could_  have killed them. She should’ve, in all honesty–it would make their escape much less complicated if they didn’t have to improvise on their way out, but something in Ismali questioned the  _point_  of it all, even as dust rained down upon their heads while the bombardment continued.

Ominous rumbling further away in the temple should have cemented Ismali’s resolve,  _should_  have encouraged her to pick up her pace, but there was no added urgency to her steps even as Rhuzil’s near-incredulous haze of thought overtook them both like a miasma.

When Ismali stopped and decloaked briefly to check her maps, Rhuzil faded into view alongside her, the ridges of his face twisted into a deep snarl. “You left our escape route  _choked_  with Jedi.” he spat, and Ismali didn’t care for how he attempted to loom over her, not one bit.

“Know your place.” she growled, lip curled.

“I know mine,  _my lord_ ,” Rhuzil sneered, “but I’m beginning to think you don’t know  _yours_.”

“I am the right hand of Darth Ekkage herself and you  _dare_  to question me?” another rank pull, much more overt this time. Rhuzil’s snarl turned fiercer.

“How do you think  _Ekkage_  would take it if I told her that her right hand has a weak stomach when it comes to killing Jedi?” Rhuzil’s golden eyes stared down Ismali’s bright red, and she refused to blink.

“Ekkage has no cause to doubt my commitment.” Ismali retorted, though that one didn’t ring as true.

Rhuzil’s grin wasn’t  _quite_  threatening, but it certainly wasn’t friendly, either. “Then lead on, Darth Irrida.”

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a backwards glance as she once again shrouded her presence from sight, and darted back into the shadow.

From where they stood, it was a short sprint across open ground to the temple’s archive, occupied by countless Jedi and Sith dueling one another to the death, lightsabers flashing through the air in every color imaginable. Purple and blue and red and green, cyan and white and burnished gold.

Ismali drew in a breath, and leapt into the battle unseen.

For all their quarrels and all that Rhuzil challenged her, Ismali knew there was no one else she would want at her back for this. No one else could have followed in her footsteps so carefully, so  _perfectly_ , as to not even raise suspicion from their allies that they were present. They remained far enough apart that Ismali knew they wouldn’t accidentally collide, but close enough that their pull was magnetic, two opposing points on a compass.

Rubble shifted under her boots, but in the chaos of the battle, their compatriots and foes alike would have enough to deal with. Rhuzil continued to follow in her footsteps, close enough she could still sense him, and Ismali didn’t release her breath until she found herself on the opposite side of the room, hands resting against the ancient stone walls like it was the last solid object keeping her from hurtling over a cliffside.

The final corridor was long and winding, taking them deeper underground, and the rumbling of the bombardment reached a mighty crescendo before stopping altogether. Ismali reached back with her senses and found very few Jedi remaining–her Sith brethren were withdrawing as well.

That meant the temple would be under fire soon, and it  _would_ be brought down–she knew Angral’s methods well enough to know what he would order done.

Ismali decloaked as they came upon the final turn, Rhuzil in her shadow, and stopped.

The Jedi Temple’s archive wing was much larger than Ismali had expected, with high ceilings and data storage terminals winking with bright and cheerful blue lights every few seconds. Tables had been overturned and made into hasty barricades, and she saw where a few chunks of masonry had already come down as a result of the earlier assaults. None of that was what made Ismali falter where she stood, as Rhuzil watched.

In the center of the room, a group of Jedi younglings–the oldest of them Ismali could see likely wasn’t older than 10 years, if that–were huddled together, unarmed, watching her with stark terror in their eyes.

At their head, however, was a zabrak girl–perhaps 14 or 15, it was hard to tell–armed with an old, rusting vibroblade, held in an unsteady and sloppy grip. Her dark gaze was filled with a deep calm that Ismali didn’t typically associate with that young age, and her stance held solid as she looked Ismali in the eye.

This Jedi did not fear Ismali in the slightest, though for all intents and purposes, she was staring death in the face.

Ismali’s hand went for her dualsaber almost unconsciously, and activated it–its deep crimson glow filled the hallway and she watched the younger Jedi flinch away. The zabrak girl didn’t move–if Ismali didn’t know any better she’d say the young Jedi-in-training had frozen to the spot with fear, but knew better.

“This place  _isn’t_  for you.” the girl called out, and there was the hint of fear, the hint of uncertainty, that Ismali recognized, and she tightened her jaw. “I  _will_  defend this archive, with my  _life_  if need be.”

Ismali knew what she  _should_  do–she should rush in, cut the zabrak girl down, obliterate the archive and complete her mission. She should raise her dualsaber, send a shock of vicious lightning from her fingertips, like Korriban’s inquisitors had taught her so many years ago, as a tool for suffering. She should  _move_ , she should–

But Ismali’s life had been a procession of things she  _should_  do, and it had led her nowhere but here: surrounded by the destruction her fellows caused, and for  _what?_  How many bright lights had Ismali snuffed out in her time as Darth Ekkage’s chief assassin? How many had fallen since she had been called Darth Irrida, and raised up to supposed greatness?

‘Greatness’ had left nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth and an empty void in her chest. Power was supposed to bring her victory, and through victory, the Force would break her chains, and free her.

She had never felt more trapped than here, in this moment.

“My lord,” Rhuzil growled softly, mindful of the young Jedi’s listening ears, “if you will not strike–”

Ismali knew what she  _should_  do, now, and it felt better than any ‘ _should’_  had felt in a long, long time.

She lowered her dualsaber.

“No,” came from her lips, so softly it was barely audible, but it shifted her very existence on an infinite fault line that was invisible, but very, very real.

“ _What?_ ” Rhuzil shifted his stance, momentarily thrown off-balance by confusion, and Ismali’s grip on her dualsaber tightened. “ _What_  did you say?”

“No.” Ismali said again, stronger this time. She shifted their positions, shifted until she stood with her back to the Jedi, facing her partner head-on. “Rhuzil, even if we get this data, even if we make it back to Ekkage with it, what then? It leads to more of  _this_ , this  _senseless_  destruction. What do we hope to achieve? Tell me.”

“We are buying time for our negotiators.” he told her incredulously. “Have you gone mad?!”

“We are buying time for our negotiators, who intend to force the Republic into a treaty of unfavorable terms, in preparation for another onset of  _this_.” Ismali waved her free hand vaguely at the temple, at Coruscant. “And in the end, that will accomplish nothing, either.”

Rhuzil stared her down, unyielding and unflinching. “You are  _weak_ ,” he finally spat, “and a  _coward_. You were never fit to be Darth Ekkage’s successor.”

Ismali’s grin was cold, and for the first time since setting foot in the temple, she shifted her stance into a combat-ready one. “Neither are you, old friend.”

Rhuzil made a move to leap past her–likely to complete their mission–but such a reckless move left him open to counterattack, and Ismali struck ruthlessly, striking down at a weak point she knew Rhuzil tended to favor during their sparring. His glare was hateful, but Ismali faced it resolutely.

Their duel was short but vicious, made more complicated by the fact Ismali checked out of the corner of one eye every few moments at the group of young Jedi, ensuring their plucky zabrak protector wasn’t planning on taking advantage of either Sith lord’s distraction to attempt overpowering one of them.

A sharp, burning pain lanced across her face, and Ismali couldn’t help the cry that escaped her lips, shocked and furious. Rhuzil’s lightsaber had left a score across her face, narrowly missing her right eye and passing the bridge of her nose, across her opposite cheek. Already the could feel it cauterizing, but the pain remained, and Ismali snarled.

“ _Weak_ ,” Rhuzil reminded her, readying his stance again, “and a  _coward_.”

They would have struck once more, but the temple heaved with such force that it sent both of them to their knees. Ismali recovered first, furiously blinking away the tears that rose in her bright red eyes in response to the slash across her face. Her lightsaber hummed angrily as she brought it down, but Rhuzil darted away, and the temple rumbled again–longer and more sustained.

Rhuzil fixed his gaze on her. “Fitting that you die with the whelps your effort was wasted on.” he told her, and before she could react, took to his heels, and vanished.

More chunks of stone fell from the ceiling–one landed on the nearest archive terminal, which exploded into a shower of sparks. Ismali deactivated her dualsaber and strode closer to the group of young Jedi, but was stopped by the zabrak girl, who still held her vibroblade tightly and her chin raised high. “ _Don’t_  come closer, Sith.”

The temple settled, however briefly, and Ismali paused, reaching for her dualsaber again. She removed it from her hip, and dropped it at the zabrak girl’s feet, lowering herself until she kneeled on the floor.

“I am Darth Irrida, right hand of Darth Ekkage.” Ismali told her, and did the girl the credit of looking her in the eye. “I surrender.”

* * *

After the chaos of Coruscant’s raging battlegrounds, the eerily silent cell they left her in felt jarring.

It was faceless, sharp-edged, and left no room for escape. Ismali couldn’t even tell where the door was, since she’d been brought here while sedated. Her wrists and ankles were bound in stun cuffs, and they made meditating impossible, though the only meditation Ismali knew well was the kind to prepare for battle, and it felt misplaced here. She found herself on the floor anyway.

She felt the low thrum of gravity regulators, though, and it told her she was aboard a starship, which was confusing, to her. If the Jedi and the Republic wanted to make a spectacle out of executing a Dark Council member’s closest ally, the sealed brig of a starship hardly seemed grand enough for such things.

Unless they wished to interrogate her first, pry every drop of knowledge she had from her skull before they did it. A final slap in the face to the Empire, and Ismali didn’t know if she could be bothered to care anymore. Either she would die here, at the Jedi’s hands, or Ekkage would learn of her surrender, and dispatch her own assassins–more  _loyal_  assassins–to finish the job.

The only thing that mattered anymore was how long Ismali would have to wait, but that was a small irritation in the grand scheme of how she’d just completely upended her life.

There had been no rational thought involved, no sudden ambition that forced her to strike at her most trusted partner and her greatest rival, just the complete and utter certainty that Ismali would rather have died than let that atrocity happen. Decades of her life had been spent looking the other way from such things, at best, and at worst she was the cause.

If she was lucky, the Republic would make it a quick death, a merciful one.

There was a slight hiss of hydraulics, and the door opened to admit two Jedi–even bound, Ismali could sense the calm and tranquil aura they gave off. One was a human man, older, with slightly-receding hair turning gray from stark black. The other was a woman garbed in cloth combat gear with dark hair separated into multiple braids, but what caught Ismali’s attention first was the dualsaber at her hip.

They watched one another in silence, and Ismali was at a loss for words. “Have you come to kill me?” she finally asked, and was shocked by the hoarseness of her own voice.

That got a reaction out of them–the man’s eyebrows shot up and the woman jerked her head back, like she hadn’t been expecting Ismali to ask. “No,” the man replied first, approaching until he could kneel where Ismali knelt on the floor, “we were summoned to speak with you. And to heal you.”

Ismali flinched. “My wound is not fatal.” she said flatly. What point would there be in healing her if they planned to only make an example of her later?

“You told young Hirek that you are Darth Irrida.” the woman spoke up, arms folded over her chest. “Is that true?”

“It is.” Ismali could confirm that much for them, at least. “Who are you?”

“I am Satele Shan, and this is Syo Bakarn.” Satele–the woman–gestured at her counterpart, still kneeling beside Ismali on the floor, though in stark contrast to her boldness on Coruscant, she felt she couldn’t look either of them in the face. “We came to discuss your future.”

“You will want information from me, of course.” Ismali told them, glancing up briefly, her tone devoid of judgment or mockery. “And then you must make an example to the Dark Council after what happened on Coruscant.”

Satele arched one brow. “We must, must we?”

Ismali stared, and finally Satele sighed. The other Jedi, Syo, raised one hand, awash with golden light, and Ismali struggled not to flinch. A soothing warmth settled under her skin, and she remained alert for any attempt by either Jedi to attempt influencing her, but nothing came of it. A surprise in itself.

“What, then, do you suggest happens now?” Ismali asked, determined to ignore the deep, howling void in her chest that had only grown deeper, languishing in this cell.

“What do you  _want_  to happen?” Syo asked, and Ismali didn’t want to admit how much that question terrified her, but she knew the Jedi could likely sense it. Another humiliation to add to the day’s procession of them.

“I don’t know.” Ismali told them the truth. “I betrayed the Empire, and they will kill me for it, but I–I couldn’t–” Ismali cut herself off and looked down at the floor, shaking her head, trying to gather her thoughts and the inconceivable reasons she must have had for turning her back on her people, in the heat of the moment. She took a breath, held it, and released it. “For two decades, I have been a weapon of the Dark Council. I caused destruction and death on an unimaginable scale, all from the shadows, against your people.” Ismali couldn’t look up to face the judgment in their eyes, the disgust she knew she felt for herself. “I stood in your temple, and I questioned  _why_.”

Silence reigned, and Ismali looked up this time. Both Jedi’s faces were inscrutable and gave nothing away, and somehow, it was more encouraging than whatever Ismali had been expecting.

“I questioned why, because in my two decades serving as an assassin for the Empire, the right hand of Darth Ekkage, I was supposedly serving a righteous cause, a just one, because we were reclaiming our place in the galaxy.” Ismali couldn’t help the shade of bitterness that overcame her last words, but made no effort to take it back. “I never felt as though I was ‘reclaiming’ anything, leaving behind ruin and death in my wake. I waited for whatever grand revelation my peers seemed to be having, and it never came. I think I got tired of waiting.” her chuckle was dry and humorless, and her hands shifted in the stun cuffs.

“The truth is, I think I want…something new.” Ismali furrowed her brow as she thought about how she wanted to say it, if it was even  _true_ , but it felt more true and more certain than anything she’d said in the past few weeks leading up to this invasion. “Something better. I think I want to  _be_  someone new and better, as well. But I don’t know if I can.”

“Do you believe it was chance that brought you to the temple today?” Satele asked, voice wavering ever so slightly as she mentioned the temple, a single crack in the solid, stoic Jedi veneer.

It was an unusual question, and Ismali considered her answer. “No.” Ismali answered slowly, carefully. “I was ordered to go, and so I went. But I chose to turn and duel my partner instead of stealing your data for my master, to lay down my saber and surrender to your people.” Ismali lifted her shoulders in a faint shrug, the most she could do with her wrists bound. “It doesn’t mean everything, and it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done, but…”

“It’s a start.” Syo rested one hand on one of Ismali’s shoulders, and she couldn’t help the flinch that time, lip twitching as she tried not to scowl, because that felt as much out of place here as her meditations.

“Darth Irrida,” Satele took up the conversation again, “there is no doubt that you are guilty of crimes against the Republic. Crimes that must be repaid. I would like to offer you what you want, but I cannot condone letting you go free.”

“I would not suggest otherwise.” Ismali looked down again.

“However,” Satele continued, “you have shown that you have a willingness to change from within, and that is a battle that no one should undertake alone.”

“What choice do I have?” Ismali looked up again, lip curled in something that tried to be a snarl, but she had lost her fire, and the Jedi seemed to know it–they barely moved from where they stood.

“You have every choice.” Satele retorted, but the sting in her words was nothing compared to what Ismali might have expected, “You said you want something better, to  _be_  someone better. You want a purpose, and we can offer one to you.”

All at once, it clicked. “A Jedi.” Ismali intended for it to sound questioning, but instead it came out lifeless and shocked. “You want to offer me a place in the  _Jedi_ , after all I have done?”

“If you are willing to commit to the light, and to changing from within, to being someone new, and better, as you say,” Satele finished, “then yes.”

For a long moment, all Ismali could do was look up, and stare like a fool. From birth, her life had been sworn to the Empire, and the ridges on her deep red skin confirmed that as much as the dualsaber on her hip–she was Sith, and always had been. There had never  _been_  anything else for her.

On Coruscant, Ismali had decided that she would rather die than destroy any more of the light and life in this galaxy, and it  _wasn’t_  everything, would never  _be_  everything, would not absolve her of her past sins.

But if she could turn around, and make this galaxy at least a little bit better place than before, well.

There was nothing else to do but  _try_.

“I…” Ismali stopped, swallowed the lump in her throat, and continued, “Surely you cannot make this decision alone. Other Jedi would not approve of bringing a former lord of the Sith into your ranks.”

“They will need to be persuaded, both by our word and by your own actions.” Satele’s gaze pinned Ismali, but she didn’t feel threatened by it. “And there  _will_  be some who disagree. It falls to you whether you place any weight on their opinions.”

“I have an idea.” Ismali began hesitantly. “But it’s not without a great deal of risk. Ekkage is the most powerful Sith assassin on the Dark Council, and I was her right hand. What if I could reveal ways to weaken her, or kill her?”

Both Jedi went very still. “You would do this simply to prove your sincerity?” Syo asked, still kneeling at Ismali’s level. Part of her wanted to resent it.

“I would do this both to prove my commitment and to remove a volatile asset from the war’s playing field.” Ismali chose her words with surgical precision. “I followed her lead without question, and she headed many of the war’s most devastating sabotage operations. It may not be everything, to remove her from power, but,” Ismali shrugged again, a slightly more hopeful gesture than before, “it’s a start, is it not?”

“It is.” Syo agreed, and Ismali closed her eyes, ignoring the burning behind her eyelids.

“I will assist you in whatever way you deem necessary to capture or kill my former master.” Ismali opened her eyes again and looked both Jedi in the face, chin raised for the first time since this conversation began. “And I will do everything in my power to ensure your faith in me is not misplaced.”

It slipped easily from Ismali’s lips, but it didn’t feel false in how easily she’d said it–the words settled in her chest, and the cold, empty void there was no less imposing, having said them, but something deep and angry and volatile within her began to go quiet. She should not have cared about the opinions of two Jedi, and less than two weeks ago, she might not have, but doubted it.

Today, they offered her a chance to begin anew, to rebuild what she knew of herself from the ground up. It was more than Ekkage had ever  _thought_  of offering her.

Satele removed Ismali’s ankle cuffs for the hyperspace journey they prepared to take, though Ismali didn’t particularly care where they went, as long as it promised the new start both Jedi had assured her of.

It felt almost foolish, but she felt the ship depart for hyperspace, and Ismali looked down at the stun cuffs still binding her wrists, but looked out at the door where the Jedi departed, and basked in the soothing remnants of whatever Force energy the Jedi Syo had sent through her to heal her single injury from the battle, and felt a small, flickering thing in her chest–

–a small, flickering,  _warm_ thing in her empty, aching chest that tried to be  _hope._


End file.
